


Sleeping Sickness

by Chocolatechippedteacup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatechippedteacup/pseuds/Chocolatechippedteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First written after the airing of Skin Deep--my take on Belle and Rumpelstiltskin's reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Come on, love. No need to shuffle your feet about like that,” the nurse’s hold on her arm was firm, yet assuring, as she led her down the hall to the bathroom. “You love bath day.”

She said nothing. Her feet, barely covered with thin socks, met the cold concrete with every light step. She felt exhausted. The haze they put her under when she left her room made her feel foggy—distant—gliding the line between awake and asleep.

The nurse pushed open the swinging door, leading her inside. She knew the routine, and as her guardian started the shower, she stripped down to her bare flesh. The nurse looked at her and frowned. Conscious, she folded her arms in front of her chest. It wasn’t because she was ashamed of her breasts—-she was ashamed of her scars.

The hot water gave her some relief. She stepped in as the nurse gave her the usual fifteen minute window of peace. She was no longer considered a suicide risk—not since they upped her dosage.

Her brown curls, darkened by the water, stretched down her back as she stood unmoving under the shower head.

She was sick of the quiet and as the near scalding water made an almost musical sound as it hit her back she wished she could stand there forever.

Her entire life was spent in the four-walled cell. Once a week there were group meetings with the Others down the hall. She never liked them. All men—all leering at her as the therapist tried to get them to tell why they are what they are.

Crazy.

“Bonnie…,” the therapist would whisper gently, voice full of hope and encouragement. “Please say something this week. Anything you want to talk about?”

She looked down at her arms—full of needle pricks, bruises, and thin white scars. There was an especially long on left. She admired its symmetry but felt the familiar shame as she looked away. She’d lost all privileges for two years after that stunt. She couldn’t even use utensils until a month ago.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. “I’m coming in, Bonnie!” The nurse yelled. Frowning, she knew she never got the full time. Turning the shower off, she stepped out from being the white screen, her body glistening and suddenly cold again.

“There’s a good girl,” the nurse said, drying her off with a gray tower.

“I can do it myself,” she felt herself snap. Her drugged stupor was wearing off.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, but smiled. “Of course you can, dearie.”

Her eyes shot up.

“What did you say?” She asked as the nurse stood frozen, the towel hanging limply from her arm.

“What? Come along, Bonnie, others are waiting.” Hesitating, she took the towel and dried herself off. The nurse smiled and led her down the hall.

“Dearie…” the voice—a man’s voice—was high and laughter. It echoed in her mind as it echoed in the corridors.

She looked around earnestly, hoping to see who said it. “Something wrong, Bonnie?” the nurse said, opening the door to her cell.

She shook her head no. She had learned a long time ago that anything considered out of the ordinary behavior wise was a one way ticket to receiving a large dose of “medicine.”

The door closed behind her. The nurse mumbled something about dinner—but she wasn’t listening. She was alone again, as she always was.

Curling up into a ball, she sat, waiting for her next bit of human interaction before the day was over.

Then she heard the voice of the little boy.

So charged, so full of life and electricity. His voice coursed through her with excitement, raising her out of her near-slumber. Lifting her head towards the barricaded windows, her ears perked at his conversation.

She’d heard his voice before—weeks, months, or was it years ago? She wasn’t certain, but as she stood on the tips of her toes she looked through the small opening, she knew that it wasn’t the first time he had visited the hospital.

He walked lively, a large grin on his face and a book in his hands, and he chatted animatedly with a tall, blonde haired woman. The blonde rolled her eyes at what she was saying, but she looked happy to spend time with him.

“Okay, kid, this is where I leave you,” she said, messing up his hair. “Your Mom is coming around soon, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, the excited expression sliding off his face. “So I guess you gotta go, huh?”

“You got it,” she looked off in the distance.

“Going to meet August?” He said with a smirk and raised eyebrows as her cheeks became sprinkled with pink.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said playfully. “Make sure you tuck that book away, or else Madam Mayor might try to toss it again.” She gave him an endearing look before taking off.

The young child’s eyes scanned across the green grass as he walked over to where she was watching him. His backpack slid off his shoulders as he took a seat under a nearby tree, facing her. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t be able to see her, then—

“Hi!” He said, putting his large book into his bag, and walked over to her. “I thought I saw someone.”

She panicked.

Sliding her back against the wall, she hoped that he thought she was an illusion. She wasn’t supposed to be seen. She had several big needle marks to prove that.  
Her heart raced as she heard leaves crunching outside the window. No no no no no no no no. She was in so much trouble. “I know you’re in there, I saw you watching me an’ Emma. And I know I’ve seen something from the window before.”

“Please,” she whispered. “Please go. I’ll—I will be in trouble if I’m seen talking to you.”

“I’m Henry,” he said brightly. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell. Plus, I’ve got a lot of friends who can make sure you won’t be. Are you sick?”

His innocence broke her heart. Didn’t he know that she was crazy? Didn’t know she’d been locked in here her whole life?

“Not, not really…,” she hesitated. Against her better judgment, she faced the open hole in the window. The boy’s face was so close to hers she nearly fell back with surprise. “You really shouldn’t be here; you could get in trouble, too.”

“What part of the hospital are you in?” he disregarded her warning. “I’ve never been down there, and I’ve been everywhere.”

Her face reddened. “They told me I’m crazy,” she said honestly as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I’m not allowed in the other parts of the hospital.”

She thought he would run—she was told that Outsiders hated people like her, that she is a freak that needed to be locked away—but he smiled. “I’ve been told that, too. You’re not the only person who people think is messed up. My mom makes me go to therapy every week.”

For some reason, she suddenly felt lighter, and for the first time in a very long time—she smiled. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. So what are you in for?” He asked, resting his head on his hand.

“I—,” she hesitated. Why was she there? She’d never thought about it before. “I don’t know.”

“Huh.” He said. “What’s your name?”

“Bonnie.”

“Have long have you been here, Bonnie?”

She didn’t know that either, “My whole life, I guess.”

“That’s strange,” he said, getting ready to stand up. “I have to go; my mom is going to be here soon. Can I visit you tomorrow?” He wiped the dirt off his pants.

“Yes,” she said. Her heart was singing. “Yes, please come back.” He gave her a smile and ran towards the road. She watched him carefully, feeling somewhat protective of the child as a black car pulled up. He turned, giving her a knowing smirk as he opened the front door and went inside.

Feeling a sudden sense of worth, she slid back down the wall and closed her eyes. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

“Alright, Kid,” Emma said, staring across from him in their usual booth in the diner. Her fork, still sprinkled with remnants of the pumpkin pie she’d devoured, pointed at him accusingly. “What’s up?”

Henry raised his eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

“Well for one—you haven’t even touched your hot chocolate,” she said, using the utensil as a condemning finger. The now cooled off treat was unmoved since Ruby had delivered it nearly forty-five minutes ago. “And you’ve skirting around me all week.”

Henry looked ashamed for a moment, but quickly regained composure and said, “Nothing—I’ve been swamped with school.”

She stared at him for a moment, his downcast eyes and fidgety composure was telling her a different story. Some people were hard to read. Henry wasn’t.

“First of all, I live with your teacher—who says your grades have been as perfect as ever,” Henry’s cheeks reddened at the compliment. “And two, I know when you are lying. Spill.”

He sighed and reached into his bag for his book. Moving aside his cocoa, he turned it around and placed it on the table. Flipping through a multitude of the thick pages, he settled on the front page of a story she had yet to hear him talk about.

“Beauty and the Beast?” She said, turning a few of the pages. “This is a new one.”

“Yes,” Henry said, watching for her reaction. “And I’ve found Belle.”

Emma raised a brow. “Of course you did. Who is it?”

“It’s not someone you know,” he said. “And for a while I just figured that no one in Storybrooke was her. But I found her last week. She’s locked away and she can’t escape.”

“Wait—Henry,” Emma’s concern began to grow. “Is someone being held against their will? This is serious stuff, kid.”

“I know,” Henry said. “I’ve been talking with her—and I think I know why she’s being kept under the hospital.”

“Hold on, under the hospital? You mean in the psychiatric unit?”

Henry hesitated. “The what?”

“Henry,” Emma said gently, trying to figure out how to phrase it right. “She might be there for a reason, did you think of that? And how did you get into a psych ward anyways?”

“But she doesn’t know! She doesn’t know why she’s there—all she knows is that for her entire life, the only person who has visited her is a brown eyed, dark haired woman who makes sure that she is always given a lot of medicine. She says she knows its screwing up her memory—that’s why she doesn’t know about her past!” He paused.

“You mean Regina?”

“Yes!” Henry said loudly, causing several of the diner’s patrons to look at him disapprovingly. He scuttled through a few more pages towards the end of the chapter. “Look: Belle had left the Beast’s castle after he lied and told her he didn’t love her. She was going to go back to her kingdom, but after visiting a tavern, she ran into the seven dwarves—”

“—oh you’ve got to be kidding—,”

“—and decided to go back and convince the Beast that she really did love him. But,” he turned the page, ignorant of Emma’s exasperated look, “The Queen got to her first! See? She took Belle and kept her prisoner.”

“But why would the Evil Queen want Belle?” She said without realizing it.

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “The book never said. Probably because she didn’t want the Beast to find True Love.”

“Ah of course.”

“But what Bonnie,—”

“Bonnie?”

“Belle.”

“Oh of course.”

“—was telling me was that she is being kept there like a prisoner, just like in the book. I think Belle might be powerful or something. Like she and the Beast could team up and overthrow her.”

“Henry, I—-,”

“Well, well, well, what have do we have here?” The voice made Emma and Henry jump.

Mr. Gold stood before them, looking down, an impressive ominous figure in his dark suit and well-crafted cane. He gave a half-smile to the both of them. “Oh, story time. What are you reading Miss. Swan?”

“It’s—,”

“Just a book for school,” Henry said quickly, grabbing the book and stuffing it into his bag. “I asked Emma to help me with some homework.”

“And is Miss. Swan an expert in classic folklore?” Mr. Gold asked, cocking his head to the side. “Beauty and the Beast, hmm?”

“Well, I did see the movie a few times. You know, dancing tea pots and all that,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as she peered down at her watch. “But Henry, you’ve got to get going—your mother will be home soon.”

Henry pursed his lips together, “Fine.” He scooted out of the seat. “Bye Mr. Gold. I’ll see you tomorrow, Emma?”

“Yeah, and no more hospital visits please, at least until I know more about it,” Emma said as Henry glared at her from behind Mr. Gold’s back. She clearly wasn’t supposed to say that in front of him. “Get home safe.”

Mr. Gold took Henry’s seat, much to Emma’s annoyance. “Why is the boy visiting the hospital? I hope nothing is the matter.”

“No everything’s fine… it’s just something to do with his fairy tale thing.”

Mr. Gold paused, taking a sip from Henry’s forgotten, and now cold, hot chocolate. “Cinnamon. Interesting choice… what fairy tale thing are you referring to? His school work?” He asked it casually, but for some reason Emma felt as if he were trying to pry real knowledge.

But she shrugged it off. “Henry’s running theory is that everyone in town is a fairy tale character and he’s trying to figure out who is who.”

Mr. Gold raised his brow, but said nothing. “Why do you suppose he thinks that?”

“Beats me. Kid’s got a wicked imagination.”

“Yes,” Mr. Gold said softly. “Boys do at that age.” For a moment Emma thought she saw something flicker in his face apparent from his usual composed figure. But before she could ask him anything, he stood to leave.

“As much as I would love to continue in studying the psychosis of a young boy’s creativity—I did not come here to drink cocoa with you. I’m looking for Ruby, is she here?”

“What do you want with her?” Emma asked, her voice rising slightly.

“Oh come now, Miss Swan,” he said with side grin. “That would spoil the surprise.”

She’d learned now that there was a balance to Mr. Gold’s dealings. They were fair and most of the time legal—and without them she knew the town would collapse. She turned a blind eye to his transactions because she knew it would benefit her in the end.

As he limped away, she suddenly became curious as to why he needed the cane at all.


	3. Chapter 3

She watched silently as the nurse flicked the syringe with her pointed, long fingers. The blonde haired nurse’s nails were painted bright red and for some reason she felt envious.

The nurse smiled at her.

“You like my new color?” She said, wiping a cool, moist sheet across Bonnie’s arm in one of the usual spots. “My husband hates it. He says that I look like a dragon when I have them long and red like this.” She threw the toilette away in a bin next the bed she was lying in.

“It’s lovely,” she responded quietly, looking down at her untouched arm in apprehension. “Why can’t I just have the pills today?”

The nurse paused. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it, thinking against it. “Because if I give you the medicine this way, I know you’ve taken it. We are making sure that you are getting the right dosage consistently.”

The needle slid into her skin slowly. At this point, she was numb to the pain it caused. Her skin had hardened over time, and didn’t bruise as easily as it used to.

Or that’s what she told herself.

She sometimes thought she created her own memories. Flashes of dreams combined with long monotonous days had jumbled everything together.

“And you have a history of hiding the pills we do give to you.”

The medicine coursed through her veins, filling her entire insides with a glowing warmth that radiated to her entire body. She felt delicious—she felt warm and cool all at the same time. Her back arched her entire body backwards and a small moan escaped from her lips.

“There’s my Bonnie lass,” the nurse said the nickname affectionately, rubbing the curls off her face. “This will make all the worry go away. That’s it…close your eyes.”

Her eyelids felt heavy, but she refused to close them. What if Henry came back today? He promised her…he promised her…

“Did you give it to her?” Regina asked, walking in the sterilized room as Grenda was taking off her plastic gloves and tossing them in garbage can.

“Yes, she’s lucid now, but you can talk with her in a bit,” she placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t know why you just don’t talk to her when she’s completely stable. Wouldn’t she be more honest?”

Regina’s eyes narrowed, “I’m not paying you to make assumptions, Grenda. I’m paying you to take care of her. Now, if you don’t mind leaving us alone…”

“I just meant—,”

“You’ve grown too fond of her, Grenda. She is just another drug-addicted homeless girl. Don’t get attached. Now—do not make me ask more than once. Go. ”

Grenda frowned, but backed out of the room, closing to door behind her. Regina wouldn’t expect her to understand the reason why it was easier to talk to Bonnie when she was in a drugged stupor. Grenda, much like in Storybrooke, had been a caretaker, a witch, some assumed, back in their previous lives. 

A nurse seemed like an appropriate counterpart. But much like in their original realm, she was obsessed with doting on someone—Rapunzel? Yes, Regina thought, that seems right. Twenty-eight years did nothing to affect her memory.

Unfortunately, the long-haired girl had been Grenda’s obsession—and it nearly destroyed her. Hopefully history wasn’t repeating itself again.

Regina sat there for a few moments while Bonnie’s eyelids fluttered—almost as if in ecstasy. She studied her face. She was young, but not a girl. She had the face of someone who had been once considered beautiful—but being locked away with no sunlight have given her an almost gray complexion, as if her body was showing the physical traits of mental deterioration.

She felt the familiar—yet dull—sting of guilt as she looked at Bonnie’s frail body. It wasn’t Bonnie’s fault she was locked away—she was merely a tool—a victim of circumstance, even. A pawn in the great game of chess played between her and Rumpelstiltskin. Regina reached over and swept away a dull colored curl that had stuck to Bonne’s sweat dampened forehead.

Twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years of monthly visits to a girl she was the responsible for destroying the liveliness and existence of. The years of continuous monitoring and check-ups made Regina feel—well—accountable for her in some way. 

Sometimes, Regina would stay behind longer with her, using her drug addled mind as a venting tool. It was refreshing to be honest with someone. Someone she could confide in with no judgment, no hatred. Just someone who would actually listen. Sometimes, if the drugs had worn off, she would sit up a little bit, and nod her head and even give a reassuring smile.

Regina took little comfort in the little things. But she took comfort in the stable regularity of these monthly visits. Bonnie’s eyes stopped fluttering and she groaned slightly.  
Regina leaned in close, putting her ear near Bonnie’s mouth. Her breathing was regular now. It was time. “Wake up, Bonnie.”

Her eyes opened, but they were glazed over. Regina only had a short window. “Follow me.”

Bonnie sat up, almost trancelike, as Regina led her through the sterilized room back to her small cell at the end of the long hallway of the psych ward.

“Sit.” Regina commanded as the zombie-like stupor made the girl susceptible to her questioning. She sat, straight up, her back in a perfect angle to her body. Regina sat in the chair opposite her.

“Now,” she said, leaning in. “What is your name?”

“My name is Bonnie.”

“Where are you from, Bonnie?”

“I live here.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Forever.”

“Have you ever left this building?”

“Never.”

Regina leaned in further, the largest and most important question on the tip of her tongue. “Why didn’t it work?” The question—vague enough that it would not awaken slumbering memories,—but pungent enough to be answered if she were in the right state of mind, went unanswered.

It always did. Regina had been struggling to find the perfect balance of mind addling influences to make Bonnie remember—yet not remember. If she remembered her life with Rumpelstiltskin it would cause chaos down here. Every time they had drawn too many memories to the surface, Bonnie had a breakdown and they had to start from scratch and addle her memories more.

She had to figure out why Rumpelstiltskin was able to remember. She tried—she made the curse so strong—it worked on everyone but him. She had her suspicions…and her number one theory was sitting in front of her now, swaying back and forth as the drug’s effect on her stamina was beginning to fade.

Regina began to stand, her work here was finished. Bonnie didn’t remember her former life and Regina wasn’t going to press it any more. The girl looked more frail than usual. Making a mental note to check what they were feeding her, she turned to leave.

“Please…,” a weak voice emitted from Bonnie’s mouth. “Please don’t leave me.” Regina turned to face a sad version of the most vital person in unlocking the full potential of her curse.

A conglomerate of pity and sadness formed in the pit of her stomach. “Please, he hasn’t come yet today. Just wait until he gets here.”

The color drained in Regina’s face and the pit in her stomach melted away, replaced with fear and anger. “What did you say?” Her voice began to rise dangerously. Bonnie didn’t notice. She smiled softly and said:

“He comes around this time, he promised to come back with friends today…” she said breathily, still in a soft daze.

Regina raged towards her, her long, angular fingers found their way into Bonnie’s shoulders and she used their strength to shake the girl’s frame back and forth. “Who!? Who are you talking about?”

Bonnie’s face looked gray now—the drugs were nearly out of her system. Her eerily blue eyes were clear and focused and they looked into the dark brown ones with a new horror. “He-he—,”

“Bonnie! Sorry I’m late, I had to stay and help Miss. Blanchard with the bake sale. I brought you a cupcake, though. I—”

Henry’s face appeared in hole that Bonnie had sliced open over and over again so she could have a clear vision of his face. The smile slowly faded face when he saw the scene in the cement cell before him. “Oh, no.”

“Henry.” His mother’s chilling voice cut through the air as he watched her unlock her talons from Bonnie’s shoulders. “What are you doing here?” She asked through gritted teeth.

Bonnie felt confused suddenly. The combination of the explicit excitement tied in with a new low coming from her intense high was leaving her feeling suddenly anxious. “You know Henry?”

“I am his mother.” She took a step towards Henry’s floating, fearful face. “You stay there, and you,” she turned back towards Bonnie who was suddenly standing. “You are going to forget this ever happened. Grenda!” Her voice was suddenly high and shrill.

The nurse ran in, “Everything—?” She saw the scene in front of her. “All right?”

“Clearly not.” Regina answered, her voice now terrifyingly calm. “Administer some medicine for Bonnie—she needs to have a long rest.”

The click of her heels was the last thing Bonnie remembered as the forceful, but familiar feeling of a stab in her shoulder forced her anxiety to leave as she drifted off to sleep once more that day.

***  
“Emma!” Henry ran through Miss. Blanchard’s unlocked door, closed it quickly, and locked it. “Emma!”

“Whoa, whoa, kid, where is the fire?” She said, noticing he was out of breath.

“We’ve got a problem. A big problem.” His speech was impended by lack of oxygen. “We’ve got to go, now.”

“What happened, why the rush?” Emma felt her stomach twist at his anxiety.

“I was right, she is Belle. And we have got to go find her.”  
“Wait, what? I thought she was in the hospital?”

He shook his head impatiently, still struggling to find breath. “She was…but—”

Suddenly, Emma’s cell phone went off. It was the office, “Yeah?” She nodded, watching Henry’s eyebrows knit in frustration at her lack of urgency. “On it, thanks.” She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket and grabbing her coat. “Escape from the psych ward. Good call kid. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

She walked past him swiftly and shut the door in his face. Pouting, he said, “Yeah, like I’m actually going to do what you tell me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Emma watched the small brunette in silence; her arms folded across her chest in a stance that clearly meant she was worried but didn’t want to show it. She let out a low whistle, careful not to awaken the woman who was asleep in front of her.

It had taken nearly too long to get her to that state to begin with.

“Here,” whispered Mary Margaret, holding out a steaming cup of coffee in a blue, round mug. Her own, light green with a tea bag inside, was filled to the brim with milk and sugar. 

They both took a hesitant sip without a word.

They mirrored each other as they cocked their heads to the side, watching their sleeping guest’s chest slowly rise up and down. “You need to sleep, too, Emma.” Mary Margaret whispered gently, touching her friend’s arm to call her attention.

Emma frowned. She had spent the better part of the evening chasing down this woman and she felt responsible for her. “What if she runs again?”

Mary Margaret shrugged, watching the sleeping brunette peacefully dream. “I doubt it: there is no window in that room. If she tries anything she’ll have to get past us.”

True, Emma thought, but didn’t say it out loud. She followed Mary Margaret’s lead and left the room, silently closing the door behind her. They walked to the kitchen, pulled out chairs opposite each other, and sat down.

“So what happened?” Mary Margaret asked, taking another long sip of her tea. “You’re a mess.”

“Huh, that’s an understatement,” Emma snorted. “She took me around the ringer— that’s for sure.” She looked up at the clock—5 a.m.….perfect. Not enough time to go back to bed and too early to really be awake.

“Went to the hospital, and of course they were no help whatsoever,” her voice was bitter. “They called me for help and then they refused to let me look at her records. It was bizarre.”

“Why is that? Don’t you have to have a warrant to see them?”

Emma nodded, “Yes, but in cases like these where she is missing or in danger of hurting herself or others they should be accommodating. I don’t know…it was just very strange. As if they weren’t supposed to be keeping her there. And of course—Regina was there.”

“What?” Mary Margaret said, eyes wide. “Why on earth would she be there?”

“My thoughts exactly. I was there for two hours before I was able to actually go and look for her.”

“How did you?”

Emma sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I found her hiding near Mr. Gold’s shop. She was trying to get inside. No idea why. After a half an hour of convincing, she finally let me take her back here.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “I think she was just exhausted.” She bit her lower lip.

“You okay? You look anxious.”

“I don’t know. They told me when I find her I need to bring her back ASAP. But…” her voice trailed off. “I don’t like how involved Regina was. You didn’t see her, Mary, she was freaking out. Like, with this woman escaping she was royally screwed. It was just a very strange moment. She wasn’t her usual self—she was—scared.”

“Hmm.” Mary Margaret said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want to mess with her, Emma. Especially if she is so involved with it. You know what she’s like in an average mood—she can turn into something entirely different if she feels threatened.”

Emma nodded. She was right—she shouldn’t get involved. But she looked towards the closed bedroom door. Bonnie was clearly not insane—Emma had worked with a fair share of crazies. She looked…lost. Like she’d been addled—changed. 

She thought back to only an hour ago when she found Bonnie trying to open the door to Gold’s shop....

“Bonnie,” Emma said soothingly. “My name is Emma. I am the town sheriff. Can I ask what you are doing here?”

Bonnie turned, facing Emma with a wide-eyed expression. She must have been freezing in light hospital garb. “I-I don’t know.”

“Would you want to come back with me?”

“No! I can’t go back there—you don’t understand!” She said, her back against the front door of Gold’s shop. “They do things to me, I’m not crazy!”

Emma took a step closer to her. “No one is saying that, Bonnie. But if you like, I can take you back to my home. Away from the hospital. You will be safe, I swear to that.” She held out a gloved hand for Bonnie to take. “I won’t take you back there.”

Bonnie hesitated. “You promise? To stay with me?”

Emma felt surprised. “Of course.” Bonnie gave a small turn of the head, glancing back at the pawn shop before following Emma into the police car.

Emma put her coffee mug down, coming back to reality. “I think something strange is going on there. I don’t want her going back until I find out what it is.” She grabbed her red leather jacket and put it back on.

“You’re leaving?” Mary Margaret said incredulously, standing up as well.

“I have to be up in two hours anyways. Might as well get a jump on everything. When do you leave for work?”

Mary Margaret gave her a look. “It’s Saturday. But go—I’ll watch her.”

“You sure?”

“I teach fourth graders. Go. Save the world, I’ll make sure she’s alright.”

Emma left with the knowledge that Mr. Gold was going to want to deal with her that day. He hadn’t been very pleased with her since his arrest nearly three weeks ago and it wouldn’t be an understatement to say that she had been avoiding him.

She walked out of the apartment, back into the cold, fiddling around in her pockets for her keys. Finding them, she reentered the old police car and headed back to her office.

It was going to be another long day.


	5. Chapter 5

She awoke with a start.

The soft pillow that cradled her mess of curls fell off the side of the bed as she stretched. Her limbs felt tight, sore—overused for some reason. Blinking a few times, her eyes adjusted to her surroundings—and she panicked.

She sat up quickly, her head swiveled as it scanned both sides of the room. Where am I, she thought wildly, backing up in the bed—or rather, as far away from the door as possible. She tightened her body, bringing her knees to her chest, arms around them protectively.

It was strange.

Her eyes absorbed the pale yellow hue of the room. Black and white photographs adorned the walls with along with large armoire placed tactfully near the bed.

After the initial panic subsided, she unfolded her legs, swinging them over the side of the bed. Warm, thick carpet greeted her toes as she walked on it tenderly. She was surprised to see how easy her feet left prints and was amazed that the room had no gray, no cement—no cold.

Her fingers grasped the clear handle of the armoire, opening the door and peering inside at the multitude of clothing. So much color! So much variety…she touched the soft fabrics, wanting to immerse herself in the differentness of it all.

Suddenly, she heard something. Nearly backing into the open armoire, she composed herself. Clearly someone who had let her sleep in such a nice room wasn’t going to harm her, right?

That thought sparked recent memories. Vivid, intense—

The brown eyed woman had been furious with her—then she remembered Henry, terrified—- then she was forced to take more medicine—but it wasn’t strong enough…

But how did she get here?

Then she remembered. The window! Of course…she looked down at her hands. Cut to bits, the barbed wiring had given her a fight and she had been weak. But she managed to lift herself through the small opening—her feet touching the cool grass.

And oh, how she ran.

Her thinking was put to a stop. The noise was music. All beats and dissonance—rising and falling. It was lovely. She took a step forward, but hesitated, biting her lower lip. How could she put all of her faith in someone she had met only a night before?

But she did bring you here.

But she could take you back.

Sick of fighting with herself, she reached forward and opened the bedroom door. She tentatively walked out of the newly deemed “safe” room. Her feet, accustomed to the warm floor, were greeted by a sudden cool change as they walked slowly across glossy wood.

A new sensation. Smell.

Oh and how wonderful it smelled! The air—the air wasn’t stale, overused, but fresh. The sensation was a bit overwhelming. It was sweet, like the flowers planted near her old window. But it was also food, cooking. The smell made her remember…but what?

It was almost as if there was a block, as if something had been placed in her mind to not allow her to access memories. These smells and sensations weren’t new—they were painfully familiar. But she couldn’t quite register them.

She walked towards the smells and the sounds. The music got louder with each increasing step and finally she arrived before a short-haired woman singing softly to herself as she fidgeted over a stove and oven. She was even moving her body a bit to the music as she bent lower to retrieve something.

She turned around, a plateful of steaming hot food in her hands, when she saw Bonnie standing before her. She jumped, the plate nearly falling, but she caught it in time, “Oh hi!” She said, exasperated, taking large mitts off her hands after placing down the food.

“You scared me! I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” She nervously tucked a stand of short black hair behind her ear.

“No,” Bonnie said quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed for startling her. “I was already awake.”

“Well, that’s good. I’m Mary Margaret, Emma’s roommate?” She said it as a question, to ask whether or not Bonnie remembered who exactly Emma was. “Are you Bonnie?”

She nodded. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, feeling the sudden need to be polite. “Is, is Emma here?”

Mary Margaret beamed. “No, but she will be later today. She went to go,” she stopped, pausing, “sort some things out. You hungry?” She said, noticing Bonnie eyed the small feast she was beginning to lay out. “I didn’t know what you like, so…I made just about everything.” She said sheepishly, taking in her immense handiwork.

Bonnie felt herself smile. The table was beautiful. A light pink tablecloth, a flower filled centerpiece with every color imaginable, and food. She was never starved at the hospital, but the meals were pitiful. The table had everything she could have imagined.

She pulled out the seat, sitting on the chair as she started pilling on her plate just about everything. Eggs, sausage, muffins, toast, fruit…she knew what all of these things were, but she had forgotten all of it.

Mary Margaret watched her, still smiling, as she took her tea and sat next to her new guest. She put some of the food on her plate as she noticed color come to Bonnie’s cheeks. She was actually quite a lovely person, long brown hair, shockingly blue eyes, and now bright skin. She just looked tired, worn.

“How is it?” Mary Margaret asked, pouring Bonnie some more orange juice. “Do you need anything else?”

“Oh, no—thank you,” Bonnie responded, food nearly falling out of her mouth. She stopped, chewed, and swallowed. “Sorry, I didn’t even realize how hungry I was. This is wonderful, really.”

“I’m glad.” Mary Margaret sipped her tea again, thoughtfully. She had about a million burning questions, but she didn’t want to overwhelm her. She instead she said, “I thought you would like to take a nice long bath after breakfast. I think I have so extra bath salts lying around somewhere.”

Bonnie stopped chewing. Suddenly, she got up, nearly knocking over her chair as she threw her arms around Mary Margaret in a giant bear hug. “Thank you, really, thank you.”  
“Oh,” Mary Margaret said, feeling embarrassed. Her cheeks felt red as Bonnie released her grip and stood up. “You’re welcome. It’s really no trouble, I promise.”

Bonnie returned to her seat, “I know what you must be thinking. There is a crazy girl in your house and you’re worried—”

“—no, I’m not, honestly,—“

“It’s fine. Really. I just want you to know that I’m not—or I don’t think I am anyways. I never was, I think…,” her voiced trailed away. Mary Margaret heard the hesitation and frustration in her voice. How hard it must be to convince people to think against something that you have no control over. “I think I was forced into it. But they—they made it seem—,” she began to look upset.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret said, placing her hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not talk about that now, hmm? How about that bath?”

Bonnie nodded, gathering her plates. “I’ll do that, you just go use the bathroom. If you want those salts or scented bubbles they should be under the sink.”

Mary Margaret gathered the dishes as she made sure Bonnie was all set with finding the bathroom. It was turning into a nice morning, she thought as she began to run the sink water. Spring was coming, all of her flowers were beginning to bloom, and some of her favorite bluebirds were starting to peck away at her bird feeder again.

Wrapping up the extra food in case Emma came back early (wishful thinking), she opened the refrigerator and stored everything in perfect, clearly marked containers. She heard the bath water turn on as she closed the door with her foot.

She turned up her small ham radio, catching an Indie station from Boston, as she set off to cleaning the rest of the dishes.

She was pleasantly surprised with Bonnie. In volunteering at the hospital, she had seen her far share of the mentally unstable, but she didn’t appear sick. But, a voice told her, looks can be deceiving.

She nodded her head to the slow beat of a crooning songstress. It was nice, she thought, having the day off. And the sudden appearance of someone new was taking her mind off David—for a little bit anyways. The past few weeks had been truly rough, but luckily, everyone was forgetting more about their little affair as they focused on the change in temperature.

Her mind was beginning to wander when she heard the rap of knuckles on the apartment’s door. With a glance back towards the bathroom where Bonnie was hidden from view, she walked towards to the door, wiping her wet hands on her jeans.

“Oh, Mr. Gold,” she said, opening the door to the pawn-store owner. He gave her a familiar side-ways smile and proceeded to step inside. “Come on in.” she said, slightly under her breath as she closed the door behind him.

“Good morning, Miss. Blanchard,” he eyed the set table and the jumble of dishes in the sink. “Entertaining?”

“Just brunch,” she shrugged her shoulders. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact you can,” he shifted off his bad leg, looking her in the eye. Even though she had never done anything to go against him, she always felt as if he were judging her in some way. “I am looking for Miss. Swann. I thought she would be in her office, but she wasn’t."

“She’s not here either. I think she might be at the hospital, you should check there.” She said, not foreclosing anything other than that.

He took a small peach off the center of her table, biting into it. The juices began to run down his lips before he wiped them away. “Is she not in there?” He used his cane to point towards the bathroom, where the sounds of water running were echoing throughout the apartment.

For a moment the sounds of her radio created a tense moment as the song’s intensity seemed to increase the volume. She walked over and turned it off. She didn’t know how to respond to him: Emma never clarified who Bonnie was acceptable to talk about with.

“No, I was—,”

But suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened. Bonnie appeared with hair, long and damp, clinging to wet skin covered only with a small towel. “Mary Margaret, I can’t—oh!”  
Bonnie stopped.

Her eyes grew wide and her cheeks rouged with embarrassment. She clung at the sides of the towel as if it were a lifejacket.

Mary Margaret watched as Bonnie scuttled back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Her mouth still open from what just happened, she turned towards Gold.

“Sorry, that’s just my—Mr. Gold, are you alright?”

He was frozen. His face, drained of color, looked towards the closed bathroom door with a mixture of fear and astonishment.

“Mr. Gold?”


	6. Chapter 6

“Mr. Gold?”

Her voice echoed in his ears, reverberated in his mind. It bounced off the walls and touched back down as it registered inside him.

Her name choked him. It ran rampart though his veins, tracing the outline of his slight frame and nearly knocking it over. He left the apartment without another world, walking in a daze down a flight of stairs and outside in the basking light of the sun.

Finally, he allowed to think it. The name he’d pressed down for years and years until it didn’t exist at all.

Belle.

******One Hour Ago*********

He felt Ruby’s gaze as he signed the check. She sat in the seat across from him in his usual small corner booth in Granny’s Diner, sucking on a red lollipop. He handed over the payment, “You’re going to rot your teeth with those.”

She rolled her eyes as she folded the check and slipped it into her the front of her shirt. “What is it you want, Mr. Gold?” Her tone was confident, saucy even. But her eyes reflected the fear she had. Is that all he was? Someone to be feared?

“Oh,” he began, standing out from the booth. “Let’s just say, you will owe me a favor, hmm?” He left the diner without another word, leaving Ruby feeling slightly confused but relieved at the same time.

He began the walk to where Miss. Swann and Miss. Blanchard were apparently living together (even though there was only one name on the lease). Something had happened last night and he was going to get to the root cause of it.

A small scuffle happened outside of his store, that much he had been certain. The video cameras saw a woman trying to break into his shop but Miss. Swann had put an end to it. The pixels in his outdated security software had distorted the images to the point where the shapes were unrecognizable—but he couldn’t miss the blonde in the unmistakable Miss. Swann.

The weather was beginning to change—but that wasn’t the only part of town that was changed. Everything seemed brighter, sweeter even. He supposed that Miss. Swann’s appearance in Storybrooke may be the cause of it, but he himself felt better.

After he was released from the small jail cell, he felt it made him change perspective about his, well, situation. The Queen knew who he was and vice versa. This was an interesting shift in their dynamics, and he knew he carried the upper hand.

He was one step closer to ending the retched curse and returning to his home. This town was suffocating him, destroying who he was from the inside out. Twenty-eight years of this. Twenty-eight years of pretending to not remember anything. He tried to—oh yes he did. The first few years had been easy; he assimilated nicely into the serene small town with a large house and an even larger bank account.

It was dreaming of her that brought him back.

Her smile, her voice—it was in the miserable state that made him remember. His son’s cries, the horrors he committed—everything. His self-interest turned to despair as he tried to figure how exactly to play the hand he was dealt. And Emma was the key.

Nothing that happened here was a coincidence. Ever since Emma returned, revelations and sudden appearances (or disappearances) seemed to be the norm. Her several month long stay had turned everything into a tailspin—and it seemed to weigh heavily in his favor.

He continued down the street. His eyes were drawn to Moe French’s van, which parked itself outside the Sherriff’s office with the back doors open. He scanned the area, looking for the nearly crippled man. Suddenly, Moe reappeared through the front doors of the office, his arm in a sling.

He stopped, noticing Gold across the street staring him down. He gave him a curt nod and reentered the van, quickly driving off.

Gold smirked, carrying on in his journey. French had paid his debt twice fold now—both in terms of money and—well—other things. They didn’t have a stable relationship—but they were even. Part of him felt guilty: French didn’t have a clue as to what Gold was on about when he was using his cane to completely destroy him.

He turned down the corner, the apartment in full view. He frowned, noticing that the sheriff’s car wasn’t there. Ah, well—it didn’t hurt to try anyways.  
………  
He didn’t stop on his way home. No thoughts, no sounds—he ignored everyone. His only goal was to return home.

Belle. Belle. Belle. Belle.

He felt like sobbing—screaming—running—anything. His heart was about to burst through his chest, his lungs ready to explode. He was drowning, he was dying—his emotional capacity didn’t extend to this this level of feeling, this level of intensity.

He couldn’t remember entering his house. He didn’t remember slamming the door behind him. He didn’t remember collapsing on the cold, wooden floor of the kitchen after taking his cane to everything sitting perfectly on his table and smashing them to bits.

Her eyes had burned into his mind. The emotion, the hurt, everything about her was embodied in the thirty seconds they had just spent together. She had always owned that knack for demolishing him with a single glace, a tepid look.

His fingers wrapped themselves around the small razored edge of his safety net. The cup’s sharp edges unzipped the flesh of his forefinger like a seam, allowing several drops of blood to bubble to the surface and stained the bright white of the porcelain design.

He exhaled. The sting of pain calmed him—reminded him that he wasn’t dreaming. She was here. She existed.

And he would have her again.


	7. Chapter 7

The apartment had the faint but familiar smell of Mary Margaret’s brunch when Emma walked through the front door. She tossed her leather jacket on the back of a random chair as she walked over to raid that morning’s left-overs.

She decided on a muffin and sausage links to be partnered up with a large glass of aged whiskey. “I’m home!” She yelled as she slumped into the chair and dug in. It was nearly sunset and she’d spent one of her precious days off investigating, apparently, a ghost.

The apartment was strangely dark, she realized. And quiet. “Hello? I said I’m home!” She stood up out of the chair when she heard some muffled talking from the bathroom. “Mary Margaret?”

With her finger tentatively touching the handgun in her holster, she crept over to the bathroom. She pressed her ear against the closed door. She heard a soothing voice—then retching.

She pressed the door open and her jaw dropped in surprise.

Bonnie was kneeling in front of the toilet, Mary Margaret rubbing her back and she heaved and vomited into the porcelain basin. Emma stood there with surprise as Bonnie leaned back, wiped her mouth, and leaned against the wall— her face glistening with sweat.

Mary Margaret looked up at Emma, her face full of pity and anxiety. “We have a problem.”

Emma looked at Bonnie, tears mixing with the sweat as she noticing something for the first time:

Needle marks in the girl’s arm.

Once Bonnie finally managed to stop heaving, Emma gave her some anti-nausea medicine and put her back to bed, a large and obvious trash can stationed for an emergency next to her bed. She closed the door and walked back out to the kitchen. 

“I-I don’t know what happened. One minute she was fine and then—”

“She’s a junkie.” Emma murmured, her hands on her hips. She ran her fingers through her hair and collapsed into a chair feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

Mary Margaret’s eyes grew as a round as tea cup saucers. “She’s detoxing? How? Wasn’t she in—,”

“Yeah. She was in the hospital. Which means,” she leaned back on the chair. “That she was being forced to take something on a regular enough basis so that her body couldn’t even handle one day without it. A forced dependence.”

Mary Margaret’s face mirrored Emma’s as she sat down across from her. She ran her fingers through her bluntly short hair: “That’s not the only problem.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“Mr. Gold stopped by today, looking for you. He saw Bonnie and knows she’s here.”

Emma leaned forward. “Did he say he knew who she was? Maybe he just thought she was your friend or something?” Emma’s hopeful voice didn’t reflect the unease she felt.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Doubtful, he looked like he knew her. I don’t think he would tell Regina, but I wouldn’t put it past him to hold her over our heads.

Suddenly, they both heard the horrible sounds of wrenching and Mary Margaret ran towards Bonnie’s room to make sure she was alright. Emma frowned. There was a major problem in Storybrooke if Regina was willing to keep someone dependent on a drug to silence her. And now that Gold knew Bonnie was here—it was all making her uneasy.

The smell of vomit hit the air when Mary Margaret left the room with a bag full of the explosions. Emma had seen her fair share of addicts and junkies—but all of them had a choice. The vomiting, she knew, would subside sooner rather than later.

Bonnie was sitting up in the bed, her curls in her face, her skin a placid sort of gray. She tentatively took a sip of water when Emma walked in. “Why am I so sick?” She croaked out, wiping tears and new sweat from her cheeks.

Emma sat at the foot of her bed, careful not to get too close in case there was projectile. “Bonnie,” she began gingerly. “I think it’s because you’ve been given a large dose of medication consistently and now that we don’t have it, you’re body doesn’t know how to react.”

Bonnie’s eyes, such a piercing blue, made Emma feel guilty—as if she forced this on her. “I’m addicted to the medicine they made me take?”

Emma nodded. “Do you know what they give you?”

Bonnie scoffed. “Everything.” She drank a few more gulps of water, took a breath, and drank some more. “Mary Margaret said that you were out today—because of me?”

Emma raised a brow, curious that Bonnie was less interested in that someone was continuously forcing her to take some sort of narcotic and more on this. “She told you?”

Bonnie looked down sheepishly, “Well, no. I assumed. I—I don’t know how much help I will be. I don’t remember anything beyond the ward.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma patted her leg through a think, yellow comforter. “We will talk about it tomorrow. I want you to finish that water and go to sleep.”

Emma stood up and began to walk out the room. “Emma?” She turned around.

“Who is Mr. Gold?” The question fell out of her lips before she could stop it, and just like the bile, she needed it expelled from her body.

“He’s just the owner of the shop you tried to get into last night,” she turned back, facing her. “Just out of curiosity, why exactly did you try to break it?”

Bonnie looked surprised to be asked that question. “I really don’t know. I might have still been out of it—who knows, right?” Her voice was quiet and her face was full of concentration, as if trying to remember.

“Night, Bonnie.”

Emma left the room with more questions than answers and she headed for the couch to try and sleep. With Bonnie occupying her room for the time being, she had to succumb to the small (albeit comfortable) loveseat.

The apartment door opened and Mary Margaret walked in free of the garbage bag. “You’re too good with that.” Emma commented from the couch. “A natural.”

Mary Margaret smirked. “It’s the teacher in me I suppose. How is she?”

“Fine, but slightly dehydrated. And I found zilch on her today. She just appeared in the ward with no records. Something is being hidden.”

“Better find out what it is soon before Regina finds her here. It’s only a matter of—”

A loud knock from the front door jarred them. Emma glanced at the vintage cuckoo clock hanging on the kitchen wall. It was nearly one in the morning. Glancing at each other nervously, both desperately wishing that Bonnie’s time with them wasn't going to be being cut short, Emma strode across the lightly colored floor and looked through the peep hole as silently as she could.

“Mr. Gold,” she mouthed to an anxious Mary Margaret, whose eyes widened in surprise. “Again?” She mouthed back.

“I know you’re there, dearies,” came an irked voice from the other side of the think door. “Please open up.”

Emma gave Mary Margaret an uneasy look, but obliged his request. He looked strangely pensive, yet was giving off a strongly dangerous vibe. Her ability to read people was coming in handy, especially in Storybrooke, but Mr. Gold had been impossible. Until now.

“Miss. Swann, I am calling in that favor.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who sent such nice comments! If anyone is interested, I also have a tumblr at chocolatechippedteacup.tumblr.com. I post lots of rumbelle and other random fandoms and such. Enjoy!

It seemed she had barely closed her eyes when she suddenly felt a touch on her arm, “Bonnie?” Came a sweet, yet firm voice. “Bonnie, you need to wake up.”

Mary Margaret was standing above her, trying to wake her up. She felt exhausted and struggled to keep her eyelids open as she sat up. She had finally been able to drift off to sleep. “What is it?” She tried not to sound irritated, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I’m sorry,” Mary Margaret whispered, “But you need to get dressed.”

Panic flooded throughout her body. It radiated her flesh, pierced through her veins, making her feel as if she were falling. “Are they here to take me back?” Her voice was strained to contain itself to a whisper, but it squeaked with her poor attempt to hide her fright. “I can’t go back!”

“Well, not exactly—”

Suddenly they both heard yelling—well, Emma’s yelling. Someone else was in the apartment. “Here,” Mary Margaret gave her a pair of sweatpants and a tank-top with a sweater. 

“Put this on, quickly.”

She obliged, taking off the large nightshirt she had borrowed and threw on the soft pants and tops. Hesitating, Bonnie followed Mary Margaret out of the dark room and into the kitchen whose lights were nearly blinding in comparison.

Emma was arguing furiously, arms on her hips, teeth bared—-at Mr. Gold.

He was standing confidently, bemused, apparently, by Emma’s shouting. He leaned on his ebony cane, his weight shifting as he listened to what Emma was bellowing at him.

Bonnie’s eyes widened in surprise and she suddenly felt nauseous again, as if someone had punched her in her stomach. A strange sensation flooded her body, one that she could not decipher as good or bad. It existed, it permeated—and it was Mr. Gold who was causing it.

“Emma?” Bonnie heard her voice, and it sounded weak, scared. She was neither. But her body was out of her control and she could not will it to sound poised.

Emma and Mr. Gold both turned, finally realizing she was standing there. Emma looked upset suddenly and she (much like Mary Margaret) ran her fingers through her long tendrils with frustration. She gave a definitive huff and looked towards Gold, whose face seemed to have drain slightly of color.

Bonnie had to look towards the ground, for the intensity of his gaze made her uneasy. His eyes, two black vacuous pits, bored into her as if he were attempting to decipher some long burrowed secret of hers. She pulled at her sweater anxiously but managed to lift her head up to see Emma looking at Mr. Gold, confused.

“Bonnie,” she began, taking a step towards her. “This is Mr. Gold, who I think you happened on today. He—,” she paused. “He’s here because he is going to take care of you.”

“What?” She responded sharply, so sharply in fact that the three others in the room felt the compulsive need to take a step back. She felt suddenly angry all of a sudden, as if Emma and Mary Margaret had betrayed her. This man was going to take her back.

No.

She couldn’t go back—they were poisoning her. Draining her mind, her body—her essence. He was going to take her away from the only two people who seemed to care about her in the slightest? She should have known it wouldn’t last.

She took a step back. “I’m not going.”

“Bonnie—,” Emma started, but Mr. Gold silenced her with a raised hand. He took a step towards her, his cane echoing in the silence of the moment.

“Bonnie, is it?” She nodded, but took a step away from him. “Bonnie, I know you are upset. Believe me, I know. The thing is, and I understand this may be hard to believe, but I really am going to take care of you. Let’s just say—I specialize and making people happy.”

Emma snorted, but after a glare, she turned and looked the other way. Returning his attention to her, Mr. Gold gave her a small, encouraging smile. Bonnie relaxed for a moment, her shoulders releasing tension. A reassuring wave of relief covered her previous anxiety. What sort of hold did this man possess?

He took another step towards her, but she didn’t move in response. “Emma says that you are sick because of what they did in the hospital. I have a way to fix that and make sure that you will never, ever, go back there.” He took a final step, standing mere inches away from her.

He placed a hand on hers and whispered, “You can trust me, dearie.”

She looked down on his hand on hers, then back up at Emma and Mary Margaret. The look on their faces told her one thing: no matter what her response was, she didn’t have a choice. But when her eyes met his, she felt calm—calmer—then she felt in a long time.

She had no choice—she had to make another ally, especially if she was leaving her only two. She tugged at her sweater, suddenly realizing she was suddenly very cold. Casting up a glance at him, she realized he was waiting, waiting to be answered, to be assured she could entrust him.

She gave the girls a small smile of reassurance. “Will I still be able to see you?”

“Of course!” Mary Margaret said, but gave a hesitant glance towards Mr. Gold, who gave her a demeaning look.

“Of course you will, I’m not hiding her away in a dungeon somewhere,” he turned back towards Bonnie. “But we do need to keep you safe.”

Bonnie gave a small nod. “Then I will go with you.”


	9. Chapter 9

He caught her eyeing his leg when he opened the car door for her. “An old war wound,” he said lightheartedly, his voice too kind, too soothing. He was already trying too hard.

It was too late; she was tired, but this caught her off guard, surprise registering on her face. Her cheeks noticeably reddened as she ducked her head and sat in the front seat.

Her exposed flesh met the soft, cool leather of the seat as her eyes feasted on the colors and gadgets of the front of the car. She had a moment of quiet as she watched Emma give him one last piece of her mind as she and Mary Margaret stood outside the apartment complex. Both had the same expression: tight lips, arms crossed, eyebrows knit together…they were anxious. Their anxiety transferred into a ball of nervosa settling into a small pit in her own stomach.

Mr. Gold gave them a last smile as he crossed to the other side of the car, opening the door and sliding inside, turning on the soft purr of the motor. Bonnie gave one more glance out the window and waved with a small smile to her two caretakers and the vehicle slowly rolled away.

She sat back in her seat. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before he finally spoke, “Don’t forget your seatbelt, dearie.”

She clicked the restraining leash over her breasts, tightening at the waist. Her heart, as if suddenly remembering the earlier fears she had felt over going with Mr. Gold, thumped wildly in the concave of her chest.

What if he were working for the brown-eyed woman? What if he was taking her back to the hospital?

Her mouth felt dry, her tongue, thick and heavy. “Where are we going?” She pushed the words from behind her lips.

She saw the corners of his mouth raise as he gave her a smirk. He turned the wheel, pulling into a driveway into a large house with stained glass and a pointed roof. “Here.”

***

It was nearly dawn when the shrieking began.

His heart palpitated in his chest, waking him up before his brain registered something was wrong. He sat up—her screams of torment made him nearly fall out of his bed as he scrambled to get out of the sheets, lifting himself through the darkness of the early morning hours.

He’d neglected his cane in his haste towards her adjacent bedroom. A thousand and one horrible different scenarios played through his insomniatic state as he limped toward her room. Her name—her real name—formed on the tip of his tongue and nearly spilled out as he cascaded through the bedroom door. Instead he managed:

“Bonnie, what’s happened?”

She sat in her bed, sobbing hysterically, looking at her hands and sheets in disgust. He hobbled over, looking at the sheets which were covered in sweat, completely soaked through every layer of the once pristine condition of the bed. “I-I don’t know what happened—-I’m so sorry—I,”

“Shh, its fine dearie, your fever just broke, that’s all.” He leaned down, scooping her up in his arms, feeling her saturated clothing sticking to his bare arms. She continued crying—more upset about her current state than a stranger carrying her—as he managed his way to the bathroom, pushing the door opened with his foot.

Her body felt light in his arms—lighter than his memory had condensed in the years passed since he’d seen her last. She was all angles—sharp edges, hollow cheekbones and prominent clavicles rather than the filled in girl of another world with pink cheeks and dancing eyes. The anger he felt at her mistreatment was put on a shelf as she began to shake and whimper in his arms.

He sat her down upon the closed lid of the toilet seat as he stepped into the opened shower. The one luxury he had afforded himself was the large, open air shower. Beautiful gold tiles lined a shower that could have held several people comfortably but was only ever intended for one.

Until now.

The shower was moderately lukewarm when he held her hand and led her into the opened space. Her clothing clung to her body tightly as the water permeated through, water running down her folded arms and bowlegged stance.

She looked terrified at him through the cascade of liquid falling in her eyes—those eyes. Those horrible eyes which have haunted his every motive, every backroom deal, and every curse created—-were now looking at him with the fear that they should have held all along.

“I’m trying to bring your temperature down,” he said softly, pulling her dark, we hair out of her face as she began to sink to the tiled floor. He thought she was passing out and was ready to catch her, but she curled up, bringing her knees to her chest, letting the water pour in on her head.

It was almost as if she were giving up. This wasn’t his Belle—she was broken. Bruised. Used up and cast out. Her spirit was trampled on and her abuse prominent in every facial expression, every wince.

The fact that it was his fault tore his soul in half.

“Bonnie,” he said gently, kneeling on the wet ground next to her, never once caring about getting bombarded himself with the cool Jetstream of water. It was all for her—it was always for her. She finally looked up at him.

Her eyes penetrated through his own and his stomach dropped.

“This really sucks.”

The wording was so serious, yet it completely caught him off guard and he gave a low bark of a laugh. There was a smile light dancing in her eyes again and for a moment a window had opened and he was allowed to peak in on the woman he had fallen in love with.

She watched him from behind the curtain of water. It was the first time she’d seen him give a genuine smile and couldn’t help the corners of her lips to raise up in retaliation.

“This too shall pass, dearie. Everything does.” They both sat in silence as he continued to monitor her temperature. He knew she was detoxing, Emma had made it quite clear how to take care of her. But he already knew. He knew exactly what she needed.

As the peak of the early morning sunlight drifted through the stained glass of the window above the shower, he knew she should dry off and go back to bed. He looked away as she removed her clothing and he gave her one of his robes before led her to his own room.

She didn’t hesitate to get into the covers of his bed and soon she was completely asleep once more. He sat in the corner of his room, wide-eyed and alert to how well she slept, as he began to plot. His inspiration sat in front of him and as the minutes passed he looked more and more dangerous.

His teeth scraped together as he knew that he could not kill Regina. But he could destroy her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter...thanks to everyone for reading this little fic!


	10. Chapter 10: Rumbelle Secret Santa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little xmas addition to an already completed story via rumbelle secret santa. Enjoy!

Emma glanced at her friend’s face from over her morning hot chocolate. Mary Margaret was playing with her oatmeal—now completely cold—with glazed over eyes. Her face showed what Emma was feeling.

“Should we, I don’t know, call him?” Mary Margaret finally said, pushing aside her uneaten breakfast. “Just to make sure--?”

Emma shook her head, her long mane of blond curls moving from side to side. “I don’t think that would be the best. He said he’d--,”

“But she was so sick…” Mary Margaret began, rubbing her fingers against her temple, remembering the horror of the previous night. “I’m just not so sure he’d be able to take care of her.”

Emma took her mug of hot chocolate and moved over to the loft’s window. It was bright outside, even in the early hours of the morning. The sun reflected on fresh snow, which started falling in the previous night. She took a sip of the sweet drink, silently wishing she’d put more cinnamon on it. “I have a feeling Gold knows exactly what he’s doing.” She turned to face her friend.

“But why he is so interested in her I don’t know.”

**************************************************************************************************

Her stomach was in knots. Not the familiar cascading nervosa of the previous night but rather a knotted anxiety that hadn’t left her since the escape from the hospital. She had been awake for hours, only having slept momentarily after Mr. Gold changed the sheets in her bed and gave her an old shirt to sleep in.

She traced the fading puncture marks on her arm. It was strange, even after two days the redness around them had begun to fade away. Hopefully her detox would prove the same.

The morning sun was peeking through the stain glass window on the far side of the room where she sat, nestled in front of with a large blanket. She hadn’t realized it was winter (the drug addled escape proved fruitless in terms of memory) until she saw the dusting of snow on the ground. 

She wanted to leave the now stuffy bedroom with all its velvet and purples, but the embarrassment of last night deterred her bravery. The shame of her own body’s betrayal in front of Mr. Gold proved too traumatic to want to see him any time soon.

Instead, she clung tighter to her soft blanket and pulled on a matted curl instead. The past few days had been a whirlwind of energy and she was exhausted in multiple ways. The dark eyed woman’s face leered at her every time she closed her eyes, causing the knotted feeling to come back full force.

But now as she looked out the window she was surprised to hear a faint growl from her stomach. Hunger stimulated bravely, she thought as she stood up with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a barrier of protection. Walking softly on the thick carpet, she quietly opened the bedroom door and entered the long hallway.

It was a house, not a home, she thought as her trek to the kitchen continued. The house looked too opulent, even for a man named Mr. Gold. Beautiful pieces of, no doubt rare, art littered the darkly painted walls of the man’s house. But no photographs, no details of her new mysterious benefactor who was so desperate to take her away from Emma and Mary Margaret.

Cold. That was the only way she could describe it.

Her slender fingers grasped the dark banister of the staircase as she tread lightly down the steps. She couldn’t hear anything, so she assumed Mr. Gold was still asleep. But before she even exited the staircase, something caught her eye from the room next to the staircase.

Standing in the far corner of the room was something that caught her off guard. A large, green tree covered in electric lighting and large baubles commanded her attention. Unable to look away, she cautiously walked over to the tree. It was certainly alive, she thought as her fingertips touched the needles. It smelled beautiful, fresh, and filled her senses with an almost unabashed freedom.

Nothing like this would ever exist within the walls of her cell beneath the hospital.

The bulbs were all red and created an almost halo around the tree. The lights glittered softly, not in an overwhelming way, but enough to be noticed well. She moved her fingers from the pine needles towards the warm lights, touching one gently, making sure not to break the glass.

“Those can be hot, Dearie. I’d be sure not to touch too many of them.” Mr. Gold’s voice broke her morning silence, echoing in the large room.

She felt her face redden, embarrassed to be caught. She moved away from the tree, her eyes cast to the ground. Her memory of last night still stung her mind. “Why do you have a tree covered in lights in your living room?” She asked, suddenly feeling painfully aware that the only clothes she was wearing was his shirt and a blanket.

He gave her a smile, using his cane for support as he limped over to wear she stood. “It is a symbol of a holiday many in this town celebrate. I found myself getting in the spirit this year,” he avoided her gaze, perhaps aware of her slight discomfort in attire. 

Belle…her name on his tongue was struggling to stay contained. He chose other words instead.

“But, the more important question is how are you feeling?” He rejected the urge to place his arm around her, to comfort her. But he knew he’d only manage to confuse her. She wasn’t Belle, and perhaps she’d never be. He would have to take it slowly with Bonnie. “I confess: when I saw you weren’t in your bed I’d thought you left.”

“I do remember a promise, Mr. Gold. I said I’d go with you. And besides,” she said, adjusting a light on the tree. “I would never leave a house with such a lovely shower in in.”

Mr. Gold laughed with surprise. She survived her first night with him, he thought as he ushered her into the kitchen. Her second first night. It had strangely gone better than their first round. And this time, he thought as he caught himself staring at this version of his true love, he was going to do right by her.


End file.
